The conclusion.
Check out Part 1 here.
* * * * * * * *
Andy is standing on a bridge that overlooks a train yard in west Baltimore. The cars are lined up, waiting to be hauled off to their destinations. The railways split and cross each other like a maze of twisting metal, like rivers snaking towards the sea. It is dusk and the dozens of rows of blank cars are lit with a deep orange glow that make them look like they are made of fire, a labyrinth of flames waiting to be explored.
Andy leans over the railing and focuses his camera to snap a photo. He hears a long, low whistle behind him. “Shit, wouldn’t it be great to bomb all those?” Byrd walks up from behind him and steps up on the bottom rung of the rail to get a better look. “Can you imagine? I’ve got to tell Germ about this.”
* * * * * * * *
Germ is wearing all black, from his coal skullcap that gives Byrd a peek at his auburn hair to his gunmetal doc martins. Byrd is following him, dressed in a similar monochromatic outfit, carrying her favorite bag that is packed with the tools of her trade. She is following Germ through the train yard. When she went to tell him about it, he somehow already knew, and had a plan.
This was the first time Germ asked Byrd to come with him to do a piece in over a year. She was overly eager to say yes and now she was stuck being his lookout. But she didn’t really mind, she was just excited to watch him paint again.
Germ had scoped out the yard earlier that day and had picked out a small string of cars with two tankers at the end. He would do a throw-up piece on one of the tankers, and his tag on the other. Byrd follows him through the twisting rows of boxcars to the two tankers. Germ sets down his bag and smiles at his two blank canvases. He puts on his black latex gloves and pulls out a spray can.
He paints in long, broad strokes, creating a maze of line work. The white paint forms a shadow of the piece to come, like a specter waiting to solidify. He sketches a nest of fat lines, twisting around each other in knots and loops. Protruding out of the center and ending in great, fat arrows. Just as the piece begins to take form, Germ hears a shuffling sound from behind one of the tankers. He drops to the ground and peers under the car. He can see two pairs of shiny black shoes matched up with two bright oblong spots made by flashlights.
“Shit” he murmurs under his breath as he hops to his feet and throws the can and gloves back into his bag. “Hide,” he whispers to Byrd. But before they can even look for a hiding place, they hear another shuffling sound behind them. They turn around to see two more pools of light heading in their direction. “Let’s get out of here,” Germ says, turning towards a gap in the cars and hurrying through it. They hear muffled shouting and louder, faster shuffling. They are being chased. “Run!” Byrd says, and the two take off down the row. After about 20 yards, they hit a T in their path. Byrd takes off to the left as Germ heads right. “Damn it,” he mutters. They shouldn’t have separated. Always work in teams. Always.
Germ can hear more footsteps behind him and he speeds up. As he peers back to check on where his pursuers are, he turns a corner and runs into a brick wall. He tumbles to the ground. “Fuck!” he says and scrambles for his bag. He pulls off his mask and hat, stuffing them into his bag before pulling out a Canon Rebel.
Suddenly he is sitting in a pool of bright light. He can’t see who is pointing the light at him, but he hears a stern voice coming out of the darkness. “Stand up, and drop the camera!” it says. “You’re kidding right!? Do you have any idea how much this thing costs?”
The officer lowers the light, but is now pointing a gun in Germ’s direction. He can’t believe what is happening to him. His mind is racing. He thinks of Byrd. He wonders if she got away, if she is safe. He sets the camera on the ground and stands up, putting his hands in the air.
“Vandalism is a serious crime,” the officer tells him as he lowers the gun. The same speech Germ has heard a million times. He pulls out his wallet and hands the officer a business card. “I understand that sir, but I’m a photographer, shooting a photo story for The Sun, I had nothing to do with this.”
* * * * * * * *
Byrd is running down the rows of train cars. She has lost her bearings and has no idea how to get out of the yard. She ditched her bag in one of the open boxcars, so she doesn’t even have a cell phone or flashlight to light her way with. She hears the crunch of footsteps over gravel behind her and jumps under a train car, deciding that it would be better to hide than get herself even more lost. The footsteps stop. She cranes her neck, trying to see where they are, when she feels something scuttle across her hand. She turns just in time to see a rat running past her face. She screams and jumps out from under the car. She is blinded by a flashlight. “Got you,” a deep voice says as she feels someone grab her from behind. She kicks and screams, trying to get away from him, but it is no use; this cop is as big as a tree.
The cop with the flashlight, a short, thin, waif of a man, leads them through the maze of boxcars around a corner where an officer is holding a flashlight on a man dressed in black. “We found his accomplice,” the tree-like man says. Byrd’s looks at the man in the spotlight, expecting to see Germ, but furrows her brow in confusion when she discovers Andy in his place. Andy wasn’t with her tonight, why would he be here? Then she recognizes the hoodie and Doc Martins that he is wearing. “Germ?” she whispers under her breath as her eyes grow wide.
* * * * * * * *
“Shit,” Andy thinks to himself. He can’t believe they got caught, not here, not now.
The officer takes Andy’s card and studies it carefully.
“Andy Hayes?” he asks. “I think I’ve seen your work. Did you take those pics of the fire on Madison and Howard a few weeks back?”
“Well, yeah” Andy says and laughs nervously.
“I know some of the men that were in that building. You did a fine job representing them.”
“Thank you.”
“What are you doing here, at this time of night?”
“Well, you know, I’ve heard there has been a lot of graffiti going on in this yard. I was hoping to get some pictures of someone in action. It’s kind of a hobby of mine. I’m doing a street art photo story.”
“Oh… and do you know this girl? Is she one of your ‘street artists.”
“Oh, Lindsay? Oh no, she is just my assistant. She’s here to help me look for cool shots.”
“Lindsay?” Byrd mouths angrily in Andy’s direction. He ignores her and focuses on the officer’s questions instead.
“Well… you are trespassing you know. Even if it is for the paper,” the tree-like officer says.
“Oh really? We didn’t know that, we’re sorry,”
“Marshall, give them a break,” the officer with Andy’s card says. “And let that girl go, I think you’re hurting her.”
Marshall releases his grip on Byrd and she rushes over to Andy. “Just your assistant!?” she mutters through pursed lips. “Shut up,” he whispers back.
“Well, we’re going to let you go with a warning,” the lead officer says. “Just don’t go wandering around here again.”
“Thank you officer. We won’t. Let’s go Lindsay,” he says, pulling her away from the group by her arm.
As soon as they get out of sight of the officers, Byrd breaks free of Andy’s grip.
“What the fuck was all that about? And why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were Germ?”
“We all have our secrets Byrd; I don’t even know your real name,” Andy says as he starts walking towards the gate of the rail yard.
“That’s not the point!” she yells, throwing her hands into the air and following him. “The point is that you deliberately hid who you are from me.”
“What we do isn’t exactly legal Byrd. I can’t have Andy’s name tainted by that. I have a career you know.”
“Speaking of, how the hell did you do that, get them to just let us go like that?”
“You can get away with a lot if you have a camera and a press pass,” Andy says as he smirks and walks through the gate.
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